


Bleed Out

by shamusandstone (theleaveswant)



Category: Firefly
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, F/M, Gore, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-14
Updated: 2009-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/shamusandstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoe’s grief finally expresses itself, but Jayne’s the only one there to comfort her. Post-movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed Out

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2006 for ficalbum claim, Neko Case's _The Tigers Have Spoken_ , first posted to lj in 2009. This is for the song "Favorite".   
> Partly inspired by [this drabble](http://community.livejournal.com/ff_fanfic/668410.html#cutid1) by arwen_lune. Thanks to hades_puppy for beta.

“What’re you stopping for?” Jayne protested as Zoe pulled the mule to a stop at the side of the road. “We’re almost back at the ship.” The sun had nearly set, and the weary trees looming overhead sent fragmented shadows slithering across the road. It was an appealing spot for an ambush, and—although the mercenary hated to admit it—the eerie atmosphere made him more than a little bit uncomfortable.

The mate didn’t answer, only cut the engine but left the headlights running as she slipped from her seat. Jayne followed the beam with his eyes to where it sparkled off a viscous-looking red puddle, then to the crumpled body from which the pool had drained.

“Hey, venison! Y’think it’s safe to eat?”

“I don’t know, Jayne.”

“Well, y’think we could haul it into town and sell it to somebody?”

Zoe stepped carefully around the blood, kneeling cautiously in a dry spot near the animal’s head. It was a whitetail buck, three-point. His tawny hide was streaked with gore and split across the abdomen to reveal a pale loop of intestine, while his hindlimbs lay too flat and floppy on the ground and white bone protruded from one thigh; a layer of dust made his brown eyes dull and his bloated tongue protruded through the red froth crusting around his mouth.

“Come on, Zo, get back on the mule. We gotta get this fèiwù back to Serenity so’s Kaylee can install it and we can get off this rock.”

“Be patient.”

Jayne muttered sulkily. “Yeah, patience solves—the ruttin’ hell are you doing?!”

He sat upright in his seat, almost knocking the rifle in his lap to the ground, when Zoe stripped off one of her leather gloves, holding it in her teeth as she laid her trembling hand on the deer’s neck. She jerked her hand away as if scalded, rocking back on her heels, then reached forward again to bury her fingers in the stiff coat. “He’s still warm,” she said, and there was a quaver in her voice.

Jayne leaned forward to catch a glimpse of her face, but in the detail-obliterating glare of the halogens all he could see was the wetness on her cheeks. “Whoa, hey,” he said, swinging down from the mule and slinging the rifle behind his shoulder.

“I’m sure he didn’t suffer none. I bet it were real quick and painless-like.” Jayne knew this was a lie just as surely as she did; knew from the volume and pattern of the blood pool that the stag had been lying there all day, battered, broken and bleeding to death, with no hope of survival but taking hours to die, just as surely as he knew it wasn’t the animal Zoe was crying for.

The burly man dropped to his knees behind her, not caring what he stepped in (it wouldn’t be the first time these fatigues had been dipped in blood). He held out his hands to comfort her, but they hovered unsteadily within inches of touching her, whether for fear of hurting her or inspiring her to hurt him he wasn’t sure. Finally one palm brushed her shoulder and she started at the touch, then collapsed against his chest, burying her damp face in the cotton of his t-shirt.

Jayne fumbled for something to say, and eventually settled on “I . . . um.”

“He was still alive, Jayne,” she sobbed. “When—we left him and he was still alive.”

Aw, shit. Jayne sighed into her hair and wrapped his arms tentatively around her, patting her on the back. A month since Serenity and her crew were declared fit for travel, two since they’d been made otherwise; it was about time this dam broke, but why did he have to be the one to comfort her? Women were confusing enough at the best of times (even ones like Zoe, tougher than any living man he knew); but when the waterworks were on they turned into another beast entirely.

“Weren’t nothing you could have—weren’t nothing anybody could have done for him.”

“But . . . he was alone, and the Reavers . . .”

“Reavers didn’t touch him. Never even set foot inside the bridge. He weren’t disturbed.” He knew because he’d seen it. Jayne had gone with the Alliance officers to retrieve Serenity from Mr. Universe’s place once the battle was over–Inara, too; they were the only ones fit enough to travel, besides River, and even gut-shot the doc wasn’t letting her out of his sight. He’d seen the mess the Reavers had made of the cargo bay and the common area as they stormed through; seen the perfect quiet of the bridge, hazy sunlight filtering through the shattered windshield around the grotesque centerpiece of the impaled pilot. Jayne had helped to slide the body free of the massive spike, and package it for transport back to the morgue. Then he’d gone outside and retched until his sides ached. With a hole that size punched through his torso, he couldn’t have survived long.

“I should have stayed with him. Should have. . . held his hand, or—“

“No, better you got out when you did, or wouldn’t none of us got out at all.”

“But Jayne . . . he died _alone_.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Everything’s—no. Fuck that. It’s not okay. Wash is dead. He may have been an obnoxious little twerp, but he was a _good guy_ , and he’s dead, and if everything were really okay then he fucking wouldn’t be. But he is, and so’s the Shepherd, and Mr. Universe, and all those people on Miranda, and all those Alliance cocksuckers, and the motherfucking Reavers, and my Pa, and my friends, and my brother Davie and even this gorram deer right here. This deer lay here dying all day, in who knows how much fucking pain, because the asshole ran him over didn’t have the courtesy to put a fucking bullet to him. And he died alone too, and none of it is fucking okay.” It wasn’t until the torrent of words came pouring out that Jayne even realized he had them in him, or the tears that streamed with blistering heat down his cheeks and dripped icy-cold from his chin.

The two warriors sat there shaking in the sharp, blood-sticky gravel of the road, drawing a comfort neither one knew they needed from the contact of another grieving body, until the automatic power-savers on the mule shut off the headlights with a clunk and a whirr. Zoe gasped at the sound and the sudden darkness and pulled away, slowly drawing herself together

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” she said, fingertips at her temples.

“S’okay,” Jayne sniffled as he scrubbed the salt and mucus from his face with the sleeve of his coat. “Promise you won’t tell nobody about this.”

“Who would I tell?”

“Just say you promise.”

“I promise.”

“Good. I’ll get the shovels from the mule; you pick a spot. We’ll give him a decent burial.”


End file.
